


A Worrying Amount Of Blood

by SuckItStrider



Category: Benjaminutes - Fandom, The Riftdale Chronicles (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Other, noone was showing how uncaring christian is so i thought id try my hand (:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuckItStrider/pseuds/SuckItStrider
Summary: What would have happened if things had gone slightly differently before To Kill?





	A Worrying Amount Of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> my beautiful art boi deserves better  
> but he sure as hell aint getting it in this one

There was a lot of blood on Christians hands. He wasn't sure what he had done last night, but it sure as hell couldn't've been good.

He didn't even bother to wash up. It wasn't like he had never woken with blood on his hands before. Trudging down the stairs, he took in the kitchen.

Blood spattered all over the table.

Blood in a smear on the floor.

And in the corner, at the centre of it all, was Bart. 

He was huddled up as far away from the stains as possible, though they had followed him as he dragged himself away.

Huh.

Christian was slightly more concerned now.

He strolled over to Bart, but the artist's glassy eyes didn't swivel fearfully towards him like they usually do.

Inspecting him closer, he saw a gaping wound on the back of his shirt. 

Seeing that, at last the night before came to him.

Bart had confronted him about his art theft and knowing full well what uppity hostages could cost him, he'd shot him down where he stood. He didn't try to argue, hadn't said even a word, just pulled his shiny silver revolver and put a bullet between his ribs. It must have been point blank, judging by the stains.

He was just glad the police hadn't been called, or someone else might've got shot instead. 

Oculus would be mad, but killing a hostage barely even counted against his sins.

Leaving the corpse where it lay, he gathered his sparse belongings and left for another safehouse, barely a care on his mind but of another line.

After all, it wasn't like he had never woken with blood on his hands before.


End file.
